


Lightest Before Twilight

by Hallowyd



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Dehumanization, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Memory Loss, Not Beta Read, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Bonding, The Knight is Called Ghost (Hollow Knight), They/Them Pronouns ONLY For The Vessels, Trauma Recovery, don't be scared off by the oc/canon chapter, it's in there like once you can skip it, mentions of child death, the ships mentioned aren't the focus they'll likely only appear once or twice, the wastelands are just Like That, use he/him for them and i delete your comments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallowyd/pseuds/Hallowyd
Summary: The night brings rest and reprieve for a weary kingdom, and an opportunity for its inhabitants to reflect on what they've gone through.  But the dying light always seems brighter at twilight, and Hallownest and its inhabitants have a long way to go before all wounds are healed.(A collection of drabbles for Holloween 2020 on the Hollow Knight Discord)
Relationships: Grimm/Original Character(s), Grimm/The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel, Grimm/The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel/Original Character(s), Hornet & Greenpath Vessel, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Hornet & The Knight, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel/Original Character(s), The Knight & Greenpath Vessel
Comments: 40
Kudos: 67





	1. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is a name? They do not know, for they've never really had one.

Every village, every town, every city, came with a new name.

The first one they remember being called by is Wanderer, by a nest of wasps they’d encountered in a sheltered oasis in the wastes. They’d been with their sibling who they both do and do not remember, who’d been called Wayfarer by the nest. They’d had little way to communicate for some time, but the words that became their names to the wasps soon made themselves clear.

They’d stayed for so long the place almost felt like home. Almost. Eventually, they’d moved on, the wilds calling to them in a hypnotizing siren song.

Other names came and went, just as they did. Shadow. Specter. Wraith. But nothing fit.

Their sibling was luckier. They’re piecing the fragments together gradually. They’d found their fit sprawled amongst giant flowers in a ruined kingdom full of sunshine and greenery, their green cloak almost blending with the grass and leaves. Their horns, two on each side of their head, gleamed in the sunlight as they sat weaving a flower crown in their tiny hands and musing that they'd always loved blossoms.

And then collapse and ruin separated them, ash so much different than the white ash drifting lazily through Kingdom’s Edge. Burning and scorching and burying and suffocating.

They’d lost each other and hadn’t been able to find each other again.

The wastes eroded their memory of them until the loneliness was all they’d ever known. It was fitting then, that the name that stuck with them in that time was Spirit. They drifted through a series of villages for uncountable years, probably a century. Enough to see distantly familiar faces age and children grow and have their own children. So many years, so little memory.

But Angel...even through the gaps in their memory that name sticks through them. They don’t remember the details - a beaten down kingdom, a tyrannical god-king, spires of stone stretching into the sky and canyons that cut deep into the earth, shadowed caverns overgrown with vines and volcanic rivers cutting through the rock...it’s all disjointed flashes. But they recall “Angel” uttered with fear among the oligarchy and a sickly, wavering light.

They get the feeling they were a thorn in the god-king’s side. Probably in a literal sense.

But no matter how many names they were given, how kindly they were said, none of them _fit_. A name was something to be discarded when they moved on, that varied from village to village and kingdom to kingdom like their memories.

Hallownest was different. Its quiet, empty chambers and echoing tunnels made them feel more comfortable than any other kingdom. They knew this was where their story began, though their memory of it had been eroded like waves against rock.

How strange, for the place they’d fled from to feel so much like home.

The names came and glided off their shell like water. “Ghost,” the figure in red had accused, pointing a needle at them as they stared her down.

Ghost. A spirit left behind after death, like the wispy shadows of their Shade when her needle pierced their chest. Like they way they had passed from shadow to shadow in crumbling, crowded streets, unnoticed and unheard. Like the way their void sang with emptiness, proclaiming something missing within the echoes of their soul.

At first it was leveled at them like an accusation, a proclamation that they were dead or dying or both. Then the words turned fonder, still hard but with an edge of softness, and then whispered in a quiet voice as their _sister_ asked them to leave the room that became her mother’s grave.

They hadn’t, and when she’d cried all her tears, the waver in her voice when she addressed them as Ghost solidified the name in their mind.

Ghost - an apparition of a dead person, sometimes known to haunt the world of the living. Is that not what they are? An echo of something dead, cast down and drowned in the dark. A nothingness that consumes all that touches it.

No. Though they’ve always haunted the lives of others, they’ve always made a difference in some way. Perhaps a ghost is what is needed sometimes, to see what is not seen, to glide between the borders of realms.

Now when their sister speaks their name it is with annoyed fondness. Their larger sibling, twin yet so much older, hums their name in the void with a warmth their kind was not made to be capable of, yet has so much of.

So many names. But only one could ever fit them. 

They were always meant to be **Ghost**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear, the sibling with Ghost in the wastelands for a while is Greenpath Vessel! Their name is Blossom.


	2. Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has existed in a fog its whole life. Why should things be any different now?

The landscape it finds itself in is grey and featureless, an unending fog, like its mind.

Well, like its mind _should_ have been. 

It failed its one purpose, and the entire kingdom suffered for it. And now it must deal with the consequences. It does not understand why it was not discarded still, but its siblings and those close to them seem determined to keep it alive.

The Hollow Knight spent weeks in a fog of pain, barely aware of its surroundings. Now it is in a fog of a different kind, this one self imposed.

It is not _worthy_ of the care its siblings give it, it is not _worthy_ of a second chance. So it lives in a self imposed daze when awake, staring off into the distance at absolutely nothing, only moving or eating when it is ordered to. Its dreams are spent here, in this landscape of fog, sitting unmoving and staring at nothing.

It’s what it deserves.

Its melancholy (it is _not_ melancholy, it is not capable of such a thing) is interrupted by a flash of flame and a scattering of red spirographs, and the fingers on its remaining hand twitch. Just an instinctive reaction to the interruption, _not_ annoyance whatsoever.

Grimm crouches in front of it, tilting his head to try and make it meet his eyes. Its fingers twitch again, the only sound its ragged breathing. He sighs, sitting on his knees in front of it. It very pointedly doesn’t look at him.

“Are you going to do this forever?” Grimm asks, motioning with both arms at the landscape around it. “This is no way to live.”

It does not _care_ it does not _deserve_ to live-

“Enough. I can tell what you’re thinking.” Grimm sighs, scooching closer.

It does _not_ think. But it cannot stop itself from flinching back as he comes closer, and he stops then. Slowly, Grimm reaches a hand out, laying it over its own. It is struck by just how warm he is, and not in the way **She** was. She was liquid fire running through its veins and burning anger choking their throat. He is...calm, steady, like the beat of the Heart he is host to.

It does not flinch from his touch.

Grimm takes its hand in both of his, giving the gentlest of squeezes. “You cannot blame yourself for everything that happened. You do not deserve this.” He motions at the foggy landscape with one hand again. “What happened was not your fault.”

It was. It could not be **pure** enough-

“Nothing would ever have been _pure_ enough,” Grimm spits out bitterly. “Not you, not any of your siblings. A god cannot exist within an unwilling vessel. My sister was not willing...and neither were you. The Wyrm used my relationship with the Nightmare Heart as a base. But it would have never worked.”

It falters at that, turning to look Grimm in the eyes for the first time. Doubt claws its way through its chest, and its shoulders shake as its hand curls into a fist and it looks down.

Grimm’s hands are on both its shoulders when it looks back up. “You have to let yourself live,” he says gently. “Truly live. Not just exist in this _fog_. You deserve it, after everything.”

It still has its doubts. It has never really decided anything for itself. It has followed orders. It has been **good** and, supposedly, **_pure_** , ever since it crawled out of the Abyss. This fog has been persistent throughout its whole life. It has never allowed itself to push through it for more than a moment, and if it has, it’s pushed itself right back down.

“Think on it.” Grimm smiles, and his smile is jagged but not malicious, gentle despite its edges. He reaches up then, putting a hand on either side of its face. “Wake up, Hollow.”

And then the fog is gone, replaced with the blankets and pillows of its nest and the soft yellow glow of sunlight through the room’s window. Its smaller sibling is curled up in the crook of its arm, fingers curled into its nightgown, and it allows itself to glance down at them.

Just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hollow needs therapy and also might want to hold Grimm's hand more


	3. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are different types of love, all equally important.
> 
> Love for lovers is a new, exciting concept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If these pairings aren't your thing or you're not a fan of OC X Canon feel free to skip this chapter, I promise there's not gonna be much of this in here

Love is such a nebulous concept.

Hollow has always been aware of it in some way. They loved their siblings, even if they didn’t quite know the word for what they were experiencing. Down in the dark, all they had was each other. And they love their siblings now, with all the love they are now free to give.

They love their friends, the people who have helped them and their family throughout Hallownest. Those up in Dirtmouth, who’ve been invaluable in Ghost’s journey and their own recovery. And those down below, living and dead, who’ve done the same. The nailmasters, Quirrel, Myla...too many to properly name.

All types of love are different, but equally important. Love for family. Love for friends. Love for _lovers_.

The last one is a type of love Hollow has only recently become acquainted with.

They try to remind themself of this love as their partners halfheartedly bicker back and forth. 

It’s _morning_. They haven’t even finished their **tea** yet!

“You’re so-”

“Insufferable? Oh, I’m well aware.”

“Ugh!” Starsong tosses a pillow at Grimm from where they’re sprawled on the couch, sunset colored wings sprawled out behind them . Grimm catches it and tosses it right back in their face, and they groan, flopping over facedown. The smug look on Grimm’s face indicates he takes this as a victory.

Hollow watches as they sip at their tea, head angled to watch their partners properly, getting them in view of their working eye. Grimm stands up from the cushions he was sitting on and moves to sit next to Starsong, patting their head between their feathery antennae. “There there, it will all be alright.”

“I hate you so much.” Starsong’s voice is muffled by the fabric of the couch.

Grimm snorts. “No you don’t.”

They sit up, rolling their eyes. “I don’t. You’re right. But you’re still a bastard. I’m not sure why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me?” Grimm’s expression returns to an _extremely_ smug one.

“Unfortunately.” Starsong gives an undignified squawk as Grimm shoves them playfully. “You’re making me regret it!”  
Hollow’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as they set their mug of tea down. They tap their claws gently against the kitchen table to get Grimm and Starsong’s attention, and both look up at them before they stand up and move to their partners. “Are you two done being toddlers now?”

“Maybe,” Grimm says wryly. “Maybe we just need some incentive to behave.”

They shake their head at that, sitting down in between them when the two of them make room. Starsong leans their head against their shoulder, and Grimm drapes an arm around their waist. Hollow holds out their hand, and Grimm and Starsong automatically put their hands in their larger one.

“Okay, I’m placated,” Starsong teases lightly, and Hollow leans down to nuzzle them.

Grimm grins. “I’m not.”

Hollow and Starsong’s heads snap to glare at him, and he laughs. “Okay, okay.”

A purr rumbles up in Hollow’s throat and they down and nuzzle each of them, squeezing their partners’ hands.

They’re still new to this lovers thing, but there’s so much more things to experience. And Hollow looks forward to every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing OC x Canon: I wrote this for me but you guys can see it if you want.
> 
> If you're put off by OC x Canon then don't worry, Starsong won't really be a focus in these drabbles here and there's actual buildup to their relationship with Hollow and Grimm normally.
> 
> They're (half) sunset moth. I saw that you could use warrior cats style names for moths and that "star" wouldn't be a forbidden suffix and I went feral. Ao3 user Starsong if you see this we came up with the same name separately but I still feel a little awkward oops.


	4. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They never realized how long Hornet waited for the dawn.

Some nights, they wake and cannot go back to sleep.

Hollow curls into their blankets, drawing them around them and rolling over. They feel Ghost shift from where they’re curled against their side, and still do not to disturb them. But despite how long they lay there, sleep does not come to them.

The barest touch of light is on the horizon when they look outside the window. Hollow untangles themself from their blankets, yawning. They feel a shifting in the blankets next to them, and Ghost’s horns poke out. Their smaller sibling rubs their eyes with their little hands, tilting their head up to look at Hollow.

_“Can’t sleep?”_ Ghost asks softly, reaching out to pat Hollow’s leg.

_“No,”_ Hollow admits. _“I’m sorry for waking you, you can go back to sleep."_

_“It’s okay, I’ll be fine.”_ Ghost knows them too well. They hate being alone.

Gently, Hollow reaches out and pats Ghost between the horns. _“Do you want to get some tea?”_

_“That’d be nice.”_ Ghost stands, moving towards the door and opening it quietly, not wanting to disturb their other siblings. Hollow ducks out after them, shutting the door behind them.

Ghost holds their little arms up and Hollow reaches down and scoops them up, holding them in the crook of their arm. Ghost purrs, snuggling against their chest and curling against them as they walk out of their room and down the hallway into the main room.

But when they get there and look for the kettle, they see it sitting on the stove already, some steam rising from the spout. Someone else is already awake, and has made tea. Hollow and Ghost exchange a glance, and Ghost shrugs. Hollow puts them down and goes and gets two mugs out of a cupboard and some tea bags they’d prepared previously. Tea is poured into the mugs, one smaller one for Ghost and a larger one for them.

_“Who do you think is awake?”_ Ghost asks as Hollow hands them their mug, cradling it in both hands.

Hollow stirs some honey into their tea with a hum. _“I’m not sure. Do you want to go sit on the porch?”_

_“Sure, we can watch the sunrise.”_

Hollow takes their mug of tea and walks out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the back door, Ghost’s footsteps echoing behind them. They push the door open and duck through, taking a deep breath of the chilly morning air, noting the faint hint of light on the horizon as the sky goes from black to grey.

_“Hollow, Ghost. I didn’t realize you were awake.”_

Hollow jumps the slightest bit and turns, seeing Hornet sitting on the edge of the porch with a steaming mug of tea held in her hands. She inclines her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

_“It’s okay!”_ Ghost says, moving over to their sister and setting their mug down next to her. They poke at her arms insistently until she sighs and opens them, letting them sit in her lap. She hands them their mug of tea as they settle down.

Hornet motions at them, and Hollow walks over cautiously and settles at her side, not wanting to spill their tea as they ease themself down to sit next to her. She pats their arm with one hand, bringing the tea to her mouth beneath her mask with the other.

All is quiet between them for a few moments, Hollow just sitting there and savoring their siblings’ presences and sipping at their tea. It’s Hornet’s voice that breaks the silence. “You know, I waited for centuries to see something like this.”

Hollow tilts their head. _“Like what?”_

“Light. Sunrise. Dawn.” She stares out onto the horizon. “It was just...dark. Grey and black. For years. To this day I’m not sure exactly how many years passed. It’s over now, but I still find myself holding my breath before every dawn. That’s why I get up to watch it every morning. To make sure it happens. To make sure this is real.”

_“It is,”_ Hollow says softly. _“It’s real.”_

“Oh, I know.” Hornet says with a laugh. “I just like making sure.”

They can’t argue with that logic. 

The three of them sit together in silence, watching as the light spreads on the horizon and painting the skies gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I love these siblings so much??? And sometimes I just want to lay facedown on the floor when I think about how long Hornet's been in stasis for
> 
> Also Ghost doesn't like leaving Hollow alone
> 
> Oh and Hornet can hear her siblings both because of the Voidheart on Ghost and because she's void stained from PK's bullshit (Ghost basically gave her the ability by calling on her latent void).


	5. Hornet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For so long they've associated that crimson cloak with the sting of a needle.

Blossom hums as they run their fingers through the tall grass at the edge of their family’s backyard in Dirtmouth, stubby fingers brushing over flowers starting to wilt and sag on their stems.

It does not make them any less beautiful.

Still it’s sad to see the flowers dying. They didn’t get the chance to care for them properly before the season started to change in Hallownest for the first time in centuries. But the seasons changing means spring will come eventually. And maybe they can make this place into a _proper_ garden, with flowers and fruits and veggies.

In the meantime, they’re going to enjoy the color of the leaves on the trees in the yard, brilliant yellows and oranges and reds. They know they’ve seen something like this before, many times over, in kingdoms and countries and lands far away. But their god’s blood does not stop the wastelands from eroding their mind.

Maybe one day they’ll remember.

“Blossom?”

A familiar voice calls their name and the little Vessel jumps, whipping around and seeing a flash of crimson that makes them flinch.

That crimson cloak evokes memories of running terrified through foliage and undergrowth, ducking into grottos and clenching their nail in trembling hands.

Sentinel. Protector. _Sister._ **Killer.**

_“Hornet,”_ Blossom says, a certain curtness to their voice-not-voice through the void. _“Do you need something?”_

Hornet sighs. “Can we talk?”

Blossom’s shoulders tense. They know exactly what she wants to talk about, and this is not a conversation they want to have. The scar on their chest aches at the idea of it, and they place a hand over their chest and take a couple deep breaths, clenching at the fabric of their green cloak. _“Okay.”_

Hornet settles herself under one of the trees, back against the trunk, and after a moment of hesitation Blossom settles a bit away from her. They make a point of not looking at her, one hand idly running through the fallen leaves on the ground.

All is silent for a moment, before Hornet speaks. “It’s not enough to say that I am sorry.”

_“It’s not,”_ Blossom agrees, taking some of the leaves into their tiny hand and crushing them in their fist, enjoying the crunching sound they make.

“But I would still like to make it up to you somehow.” A glance at Hornet reveals she is **_also_** not looking at them, her eyes focused on the ground.

_“You killed me.”_

“I did. And I regret it every moment. I didn’t...I didn’t know.”

_“You should have.”_ Blossom’s voice is distinctly bitter when they say that, tossing the crushed leaves they held into the air and watching them drift in the wind.

“I know.”

A glance at her reveals she’s staring at her hands folded in her lap, eyes distant. She looks so...young. It’s then they remember she’s not even an adult yet. Neither of them are.

Blossom sighs. The leaves crunch beneath them as they scooch just a bit closer to Hornet. Her shoulders tense as they settle a small distance away from her. _“Our sire shouldn’t have asked you to do what you did.”_

“It’s a princess’ duty to protect her kingdom,” Hornet says numbly. They both know it’s just an excuse, a line that’d been drilled into her head.

_“It was stupid. You’re just a kid. We’re just kids.”_

“I’m over three hundred years old,” Hornet says defensively. Weakly.

_“So am I. But we’re still kids.”_

“I suppose you’re right.”

When Blossom looks up at her, Hornet meets their eyes briefly before looking away. Their stomach twists, their heart aches. Should they hold something she was forced to do against their sister? A command given when she’s still a child, barely older than they are? Hell, they’re _technically_ older than her.

_“It hurt,”_ they say finally, and Hornet’s gaze snaps to them again. _“When you...when you drove my nail through my chest. It hurt. I was scared.”_

“I didn’t mean to.” Hornet’s voice is barely a whisper. “I never intended to kill you. I panicked when you used that thorns spell against me. I just...acted.”

Somehow, that makes it worse.

_“It wasn’t fair. Not to you and not to me.”_ Blossom takes a deep breath. _“I’ll never forget what you did. But maybe I can forgive.”_

That causes Hornet to look up at them sharply, an incredulous look on her face. “I’m not sure I deserve it. You’ve every right to hate me.”

_“I do. But you’re my sister, and it wasn’t like you had a choice in this. I’m choosing to do better.”_ They huff. _“Plus, Hollow gives me sad eyes every time we fight.”_

Hornet gives a short laugh. “They’re good at that, aren’t they?”

_“They are.”_

Maybe things can be better. Maybe they can stop associating their sister’s crimson with the sharp sting of a needle. Maybe they can be a _proper_ family.

_“You know, you’re bad at this whole “social interaction” thing,”_ Blossom says wryly, and Hornet narrows her eyes at them.

“Don’t remind me.” She pauses, staring off into the distance, up at the cloud-covered sky. Her next words are uncertain, wavering. “Can I hug you?”

That surprises Blossom, and they study her for a moment. She’s good at hiding it, but they can tell she’s nervous. They think in it for a moment, before nodding. Little steps. _“Yeah, okay.”_

They stand, walking over to Hornet and watching her. Their eyes are level with hers, even though she’s sitting down. Hesitantly, they hold their arms out. Hornet is slow as she turns to face them fully, her arms having the slightest shake to them as she wraps them around them, drawing them close. Blossom buries their face in her crimson cloak and forces themself to _relax_.

Maybe crimson doesn’t have to mean the sting of a needle. Maybe it can mean comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greenpath Vessel: I hate you for killing me  
> Hornet: I know this and I deserve it  
> Greenpath Vessel: Wait shit I feel bad now damn :/
> 
> They're alive and okay now, but how is for me to know and you to find out whenever I decide to write it


	6. Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd recieved the mark of a Hunter, that is true. But there are other things they'd rather do than stalk prey through the tunnels and caverns of Hallownest.

_“You drew all these?”_ Hollow asks, running a careful finger over the open page of the journal.

 _“Yep!”_ Ghost says cheerfully, proudly showing their siblings the drawing of the mosscreep on the page, with a little description and some musings to go along with it.

 _“I love mosscreeps,”_ Blossom says. _“They’re so cute!”_

Ghost thinks back to all the times they’ve gotten bitten or clawed by mosscreeps they didn’t see hiding in the foliage. _“Yeah...cute.”_

Maven hums in agreement, leaning over to look at the picture. The three smaller ones are sprawled in Hollow’s lap, crowded around Ghost as they flip through the drawings in the Hunter’s Journal. From Ghost’s lap, Grimmchild’s red eyes peer at the pages, and they raise one hand to pat the open journal carefully with one hand.

“Nice,” Ghost signs to them, and they huff, but don’t cause trouble, letting out a puff of smoke. They eye them cautiously before turning the page again, wincing at the image on the page.

Maven leans closer, careful to avoid hitting Ghost with their lopsided horns. _“Oh...is that me?”_ They look at the shambling figure drawn on the page, with the label “Broken Vessel” at the top of the page, hastily scratched with “Lost Kin” written beneath it in shaky letters.

Something in Ghost’s gut twists when they look at the page, the Infection drifting from the image of their sibling captured on the paper. _“Yeah, it is.”_

 _“Oh…”_ Blossom trails off, looking over at Maven. _“You look awful, I mean I knew it was awful but seeing it drawn out…”_

Maven pats Blossom between the horns gently. “ _It’s okay. I’m okay now.”_ Ghost notices the waver to their voice-not-voice and quickly turns the page. Turns out that was even more of a mistake, because they feel their sibling tense beside them when they see the balloons and lightseeds drawn. _“Can we move on?”_

 _“Yeah, of course.”_ Ghost turns the page again, showing a drawing they’re rather proud of - scenery in Greenpath, with splashes of watercolor. “Oh! I did this at Sheo’s! He let me use some of his watercolors!”

“Pre-tty!” Grimmchild coos from their lap, and they feel Hollow laugh fondly behind them.

Blossom takes the journal very gently in their hands, flipping through the pages cataloguing the creatures and people of Hallownest. _“You’re really good at this. Who gave you this journal?”_

 _“Someone who calls himself the Hunter,”_ Ghost replies. _“I’ve got a drawing of him in here somewhere, after I completed the journal.”_

Their siblings lean close, and Ghost flips to the page where they drew the Hunter. A tall, imposing...bug? They honestly aren’t sure.

 _“Is that person a bug?”_ Maven asks, voicing what everyone is thinking.

Hollow leans their head down closer, gently nuzzling Maven, Blossom, and Ghost in the process. _“I’m not sure. Mosskin? I’ve never seen a bug or a mosskin like that. Maybe not from Hallownest.”_

 _“What’s he like?”_ Blossom tilts their head curiously.

 _“Likes fighting, hunting down creatures. He’s all about hunting down everything the kingdom has to offer, seems a little bloodthirsty at times.”_ Or a lot of times... _“He’s nice, but a bit offputting,”_ Ghost replies, continuing to flip through the journal idly.

 _“Sounds like he’d get along with Hornet,”_ Hollow says teasingly, and Maven giggles while Ghost swats at Hollow’s hand. _“What? I’m right!”_

 _“Hornet isn’t bloodthirsty,”_ Ghost says, and Blossom hums at that. They figure it’s time to drop the subject.

 _“Still, there’s a lot of knowledge in here, and it seems to have helped you on your journey a lot,”_ Maven says as they stretch, leaning back against Hollow’s torso.

_“It did. I think I did similar things myself, in kingdoms past.”_

_“That sounds familiar.”_ Blossom is busy sprawling themself out in Hollow’s lap. _“I think you did something like that, yeah.”_

“Does that make you a Hunter?” Hollow says, poking one of Ghost’s horns. “Fiercest Hunter in Hallownest.”

Ghost laughs, the sound-not-sound echoing through their void as their shoulders shake silently. _“I guess it does.”_

Grimmchild flies out of Ghost’s lap and lands between Hollow’s horns, settling there and curling up. Ghost carefully moves away from Hollow, trying not to disturb Blossom or Maven, the journal clenched in their hands. As they watch their siblings doze off, they pull the ink and quill from their void and start to sketch on an empty page.

They may technically be a Hunter now, but there are things far more important than hunting.

Such as the people right in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I struggled a bit with this one, I hope it turned out okay!
> 
> Ghost being able to draw is inspired by the WonWan AU by CosmeerSpots


	7. Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't like being alone. Luckily, Grimm offers company.

Hornet has gone hunting. Ghost is going to check up on the survivors in the City of Tears. Blossom has gone with them. Maven has gone to visit Oro.

It’s just then. And they do not like being alone.

The tents of the Grimm Troupe are still pitched outside town, drawing stares from the increasing population of the village. Hollow does not know exactly why Grimm hasn’t left yet. Something about an unfulfilled ritual with a look at Ghost that was only halfhearted. He hasn’t complained though. Hollow doesn’t complain either - they like spending time with Grimm, though their signs and letters aren’t that great, so communication can still be a problem.

That morning, Ghost wakes them early, much to their irritation, and drags them by the hand to the Troupe’s tents. Hornet told them they spent most of the early days here, wavering between life and death, while the Troupe helped treat their wounds. Grimm in particular was always hovering over them.

“Ah, there you are!” Grimm approaches them as they enter the tent, Ghost pulling Hollow by their cloak as they follow, leaning on a staff to support themself. He wraps an arm about their waist and nods to Ghost. “I’m got them from here.”

_“Okay. Be good, Hollow,”_ Ghost says teasingly, giving a nod to Grimm.

Hollow huffs. _“As if I’m the one who needs to be told to be good.”_

Ghost shakes their head, a certain mischievous air to them, and runs out of the tent. Hollow chuffs, looking down at Grimm, who pats them very gently on the back. “Let’s get you settled, hmm?

At Hollow’s nod, Grimm leads them through the tent, passing various rooms separated with canvas drapings. And it’s strange, they could have sworn this place wasn’t this big from the outside. Perhaps it’s some form of magic. The troupe are very mysterious.

They duck into a room and see a low bed, large and loaded with pillows and blankets. “You can rest here, I don’t have anything important to do, and I don’t mind.”

Looking around the room, it seems a lot more...personal. There are bookshelves piled with scrolls, books, and tablets, and large chests, a couch and plush chair, a desk, a wardrobe, and other furnishings. Is this Grimm’s room? They don’t want to take over Grimm’s bed. The last thing they want to do is be an inconvenience...

So they just stand there, leaning heavily on their walking stick. But Grimm seems to notice their hesitation. “Is something wrong?”

Hollow hesitates for a moment, slowly leaning the staff against their shoulder to free their hand. “Yours?” they sign, pointing to the bed.

“Hmm? Oh, yes this room is mine. But I don’t mind you resting on the bed, if that’s what you’re asking. I want you to be comfortable, and I’ve plenty of other spaces to lounge. It’s fine, trust me.” His voice is his usual rasp, but there’s a purr at the end that fills them with warmth.

They nod then, and start to ease themself down onto the bed, gripping the staff tightly. Grimm rushes over to help them, wrapping an arm about them and letting them sit down properly. 

Grimm’s bed is _very_ soft, they feel like they could sink into it. A purr rumbles out of their throat as they roll onto their stomach and lay their head against some pillows, eyes half closed. This is nice. They’re a bit jealous that Grimm gets to sleep on this bed **all** the time.

“Comfy?” Grimm asks with amusement, grabbing a blanket from a chest. “I have a blanket here, large enough to cover you, if you’d like it.” At Hollow’s sleepy nod, he drapes the blanket over them, making sure they’re comfortable.

It’s _so_ soft. Almost like they’re being covered in a cloud. Maybe some more sleep would be nice? Ghost did wake them up early…

Grimm is humming. They open their eyes again to see him sitting in a plush chair next to the bed, flipping through a stack of papers. One of the papers falls out of the stack, drifting through the floor. On it is a representation of one of the Troupe’s tents, with writing curling around the central image. They can make out one word with their poor reading skills, and it’s “circus”.

Now that gets Hollow’s attention. Grimm is a Higher Being they know, host of the Nightmare Heart. The Troupe travels around kingdoms to purge them of their sorrows and lingering nightmares after they die. But...does the Troupe actually perform as a circus?

They reach out, tapping their finger gently on the flyer. Grimm finally notices that he dropped it, and bends down to pick it up, turning it over and reading the script. “Ah, this is an older one of mine. The kingdom was called Leafhold, a massive forest with trees the size of the buildings in the City of Tears here. Beautiful place.”

Hollow points at the flyer again, and Grimm looks it over, turning it in his hands. “Something about the flyer? Are you trying to ask me something?”

They nod.

He holds the flyer out to them, and they take it gently, tapping their thumb against the characters for “circus”.

Grimm seems to get it then. “Are you asking me if we perform as a circus?”

Hollow nods, laying their head back down and watching Grimm keenly with their remaining eye. He chuckles softly, putting the flyer back into the pile gently and setting them on the low table next to him. “Yes, we sometimes function as an actual circus. Mostly in between kingdoms, countries, towns...whatever we are going to collect the Flames from. There are often many lively places in between the fallen ones. So when we stop, we put on a show.”

It makes sense. Hollow wonders how many kingdoms Grimm has seen.

Maybe someday they’ll be able to ask. Maybe someday he’ll be able to tell.

Satisfied with the answer, they lay their head back down, a sigh leaving their mouth. They should rest, resting sounds nice. However, there is one last thing on their mind…

Pointing to Grimm, they get his attention again. Then, deviousness welling in their void, they sign out a single word with single letters.

“C-l-o-w-n?”

Grimm stares at them, and then makes an offended noise, placing a hand over his heart and gasping dramatically. “I am not a clown!”

Hollow’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as they huddle under the covers and snicker.

_Worth it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hollow: Clown  
> Grimm: You WOUND me, I will never recover from this insult
> 
> Anyway I'm behind on these by like 4 days oops


	8. Shaman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing is a long process. And of course there are complications.

“Ohoho, look who’s feeling better!”

The Hollow Knight tilts its head slowly to one side, blinking at the strange figure that’s entered their family’s home. A spiraling shell over the head, a black body with glowing white eyes, a necklace of empty shells, and a staff with another shell on the end.

How strange. It’s never seen any creature like this before.

Hornet sits at the side of the nest it lays in, reaching a hand out and petting its horns. It remains still, but its eye closes involuntarily a bit. “Most of their wounds are completely healed, but lots of scarring remains.”

She hesitates then, looking from Hollow to the...snail? Hornet continues running a hand over the curve of its horn. “I am concerned about their eye. They don’t react much normally, but when I stand on their right side they don’t appear to see me, and the eye is a bit discolored. Grimm admitted he didn’t know about the specifics of void-laden anatomy, so…”

“Hmm. I’ll look then.” The snail shaman moves closer, crouching down to look it over. It doesn’t reach much, eyes still half closed, though it watches him with one eye.

Suddenly there’s light right in its eye and it rears back ever so slightly, jumping in surprise. When the spots clear from its vision, it sees the snail shaman holding a very bright lumafly lantern in his hand. He laughs, throwing his head back. “Ohoho, so you saw that! So there’s at least some vision in that eye.”

“And the other?” Hornet demands, clearly trying not to lose her patience.

The nail moves out of the way of its vision again, and it lays its head down, feeling some relief that the brightness is over. Minutes pass, and nothing happens. What is the snail doing?

“Well?” Hornet demands a moment later. “Nothing, then?”

“I’m afraid they don’t react when I shine the light in their right eye, not even to the light. They appear to be totally blind in that eye.” It hears the snail’s voice, but doesn't react much. It knew something was wrong, as much as it can know anything. It isn’t very surprised by this statement.

Still, something in its gut twists, and it forces it down. _Do not think._ It is **not** a bug it does **not** think.

_Why does it matter anymore?_

“I was afraid of that.” Hornet sighs, and it feels her hand running along the curve of its horn again. “They’ve been through so much, I was hoping they would be spared more permanent damage. I guess not.”

The snail apparently doesn’t have anything to say to that, only giving a hum. “One more thing.” It feels a cool hand on its face, followed by a flash of pain, and it flinches slightly beneath the snail’s hand. “Just as I thought. The crack running through their face is sensitive. Like a tender point. It’d be wise to cover it, and it hides the milky eye too if they’re bothered by it.”

“They don’t appear to have an opinion on anything,” Hornet laments softly, and the Vessel’s fingers curl beneath the blankets slightly, a pang of something running through it. “I wish they’d try.”

The snail sighs then, his tone turning very serious. “Give them time. Mental wounds take more time to heal than physical ones.”

Things are quiet for a moment, before the snail comes back into view, picking up his staff. Hornet hums from their side. “Sound advice. It appears you’re not completely full of shit.”

That makes the snail laugh, leaning heavily on his staff. “Ohoho! I have my moments.”

“Don’t push it,” Hornet says, and it can practically see her rolling her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it! You know where to find me!”

It hears the door open and close, and it’s just the two of them, the Vessel’s eyes half closed where it rests its head against some pillows. There’s the tip tap of footsteps, and its attention is drawn to the stairway to the top floor, seeing one of its smallest siblings there.

 _“Is he gone?”_ Ghost asks, the whisper-not-whisper of their void voice feeling both like an intrusion and a welcome feeling in its head. It lets the words glide off their mind like water, trying not to pay attention.

Hornet huffs. “Yes. I don’t know what your problem with him is.”

Ghost crosses their little arms in a pout. _“I have my reasons.”_

“Uh huh.”

It drifts off to the sound and not-sound of its siblings voices. What a strange creature. What a strange day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hornet: Why do you hate the Snail Shaman so much?  
> Ghost: He TRAPPED ME in the mound with an ELDER BALDUR!  
> Hornet: That's _hilarious_  
>  Ghost: >:(
> 
> Hollow has a lot of healing to do, but if they know what's wrong they can make things better for them


	9. Moths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They know what they are, but their people's past is shrouded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an OC centric chapter so feel free to skip it if you want. This is a double upload bc I know that's not everyone's thing.

“What _**are**_ you?”

Starsong startles, looking up from the book they’ve got in their lap to see the Gendered Child standing there, staring up at them with their wide eyes. The Hollow Knight stands behind them, still and silent as ever, their black eyes staring straight ahead.

They, too, had been small when they’d first met. Starsong was over twice their height. And they’d been quiet as ever. But the stillness hadn’t set in quite yet.

Even now, there’s still small signs. A shift of their head, a twitch of their fingers.

They don’t buy the empty façade for a moment.

The Hollow Knight watches them with their black eyes, now of equal height to them. They’re both gangly teenagers now. Though they know they won’t respond, Starsong gives them a wave anyway.

Closing the book, they set it aside on the table next to them. “Well hello, Princen. I am surprised to see you in the library. But it’s generally considered rude to ask someone a question such as that.”

The Child huffs, crossing their little arms over their red cloak. “My mom said you’re from the Mantis Tribe-” She spits the word “mantis” like it’s a curse. “-but you don’t look like any mantis **I’ve** seen.”

Starsong hears the Hollow Knight give a soft huff, as if they’re amused at their smaller sibling’s shenanigans. It’s a barely there inhale-exhale, easily missed by someone less observant. Empty, indeed.

Sighing, Starsong leans forward a bit, holding a hand out to the Gendered Child. They stare at their hand warily, before taking it, allowing them to scoop them into their lap. They’ve still got their arms crossed, staring up at Starsong expectantly, and they laugh. The Hollow Knight has moved slightly closer. They mention for them to sit down, and they do so robotically, still staring at the other two.

“My father is a moth,” they explain gently. “That’s why I look different.”

That seems to get the Child’s attention, their black eyes widening. “ _Ohhh._ My mother is a spider and my father is a wyrm!”

“Like you,” they agree. “So that’s why I look different. My father looks like me, with pretty sunset-colored wings like mine.” They poke one of their wings for emphasis, draped over their shoulders like a second cloak. The Child reaches out to touch them, too, and Starsong gently pushes their hands away. “It’s rude to touch someone else without asking,” they say gently.

They’re not really used to interacting with little kids. They’ve been away from home for so long the memories of watching the village children are distant. Some things should be basic manners across cultures, right? The Gendered Child is yet young, a toddler. They’ve got a lot of learning and growing to do still.

The Child appears to be thinking, humming as they lean back against Starsong. Finally, they speak again. “What’s a moth?”

Starsong laughs then. “It’s alright. We used to live here in Hallownest long ago, native to the area. But... _something_ happened. Our people gradually left the kingdom, scattered, and lost our history. My father came back here to try and dig more into our history, and met my mother.”

They tilt their head down, showing their antennae and twitching them slightly. “We have fuzzy antennae like this, and fur on our bodies.” They shift their cloak and show the fuzz growing on their shoulders and upper chest, and then lift their wings slightly. “We also have fuzzier wings, but sometimes it can be hard to tell. Sometimes people mistake us for butterflies.”

The Gendered Child seems satisfied with that answer. “So you don’t know why you left?”

“No,” Starsong says with a sigh, shifting the child in their lap so they can shift cross legged. “My father has some folktales passed down through the generations. But nothing concrete.”

Across from them, they see the Hollow Knight’s shoulders tense, their hands clenched together in their lap. Their eyes wander to them - they’re their usual impassive self, but Starsong has gotten good at reading what little body language they have. The Gendered Child, satisfied with the answers given to them, babbles on about something or another - needles and silk and training, but they’re not paying attention

They know something. Something to do with the moths? With their father’s people?

_The question is...what is it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starsong: Child, you can't just ask what people are it's rude!  
> Hornet: Why NOT???
> 
> "Princen" is a gender neutral variant of princess/prince! Hornet hasn't chosen her gender yet.


	10. Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a vessel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna put a cw for dehumanization and depersonalization for this one just in case

From the moment they hatched, they knew what they were. A Vessel. That’s what they’re called. They are a Vessel. Their siblings are Vessels.

But what does it _mean?_

They know the definition of the word. Something empty to be filled, something designed to hold something. But they never knew what that meant related to _**them.**_

They still don’t know, when they reach the top, determined to make the deaths of their siblings stop. And found a Being waiting for them, so bright it hurt their eyes.

They could not think, they could not move, they could not act. All they could do was follow.

Their twin clung desperately to the edge of the platform, voice-not-voice screaming for them. All they could do was turn away. _And follow._

When they watched the Being ( _father father why have you abandoned us?_ ) seal the entrance to the Abyss, with all their living siblings still inside, they still did not understand.

Father The Pale King had proclaimed them the Hollow Knight, the Pure Vessel, a means of saving the kingdom. All they can think of is their siblings still trapped down in the Abyss. They’d done this for them, made the climb **for them.** What does it mean to be a _savior_ if they cannot save everyone, especially those they care about the most?

They do not understand.

They are afraid. The King and Queen, **their father and mother,** call them “it”. It needs training. It is pure.

They do not understand.

They are afraid. They’d once reached out for the king’s robes and he’d looked at them funny for a moment before they snapped their arm back and let it fall to their side, falling into robotic stillness once more. He gazed at them for a moment before turning away.

They do not understand.

They want to tell him of their siblings, trying too hard to live and dying to reach him, they want to scream and shout that they are still alive down there, that he needs to open those damned doors. But they cannot scream in a way he can hear. And even then, they do not think he’d be willing to listen.

They do not understand. _**They do not understand.**_

And then, one day, they were standing still on their father’s workshop table, being poked and prodded and moving as directed as he took measurements and pricked their arm and drew void from them. They were unsure what it was for, and they were too scared to do anything but do as they’re told.

Then he starts to speak. Of Infection and quarrels and gods. Of a Light that burned through dreams and puppeted bodies. Of an angry goddess. Of a project to make an empty vessel of void to trap Her within. Forever.

They understand.

A vessel is a container. A cage. A prison. A vessel is something that hollowed out, to hold whatever its creator sees fit.

Father is the creator. They are the vessel. They are **the** Vessel.

That night they’d cried and shook and curled up among the blankets and pillows of their bed in their sparse room. They are a tool, something to be used. Something to contain a raging Light and then locked up, with the key thrown away. Forever.

People are dying. They could save them. If they were not so selfish.

They cannot be selfish. They cannot be a _they_ anymore. Vessels are empty. They are not. They are alive, not in a way others understand, but they are alive.

This cannot be. There can be no they. There can only be it.

It cannot be alive.

They must be it and it must forget there was ever a they, was ever anything but nothing.

So they uncurl themself from their position and say goodbye to everything they’ve ever known. Their siblings and the love they feel for them, the growing love for their parents, the growing love for the kingdom.

_Do not think…_

_Do not speak…_

_Do not hope…_

_Do not…_

_…_

_…_

_…_

It forgets, eventually. That it was ever alive.

It is only a vessel. Empty, unfeeling. A container to be filled.

There was once a they. They are dead, their memories scattered to the wind. All that remains is the empty shell they left behind.

It is only a Vessel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, patting Hollow gently: honey you need so much therapy


	11. Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mask Maker knows things. Ghost wonders if they'll ever get answers.

They have been traveling for so long, and they are so tired, a crack in their mask leaking void and their body aching. They’re out of Soul and exhausted, and there’s no safe spots to rest for miles and miles and miles. Here, among the skittering and spiderwebs of Deepnest, far below the Queen’s Gardens, there’s really only one place they know of that’s safe.

The void hums as Ghost jumps onto the ledge, wood creaking beneath their feet, and then into the low tunnel of vaguely familiar black stone. Low light meets their eyes when they emerge, particles of void drifting lazily through the air. Along with the constant sound of brushes and chisels, of course.

An unmasked face turns towards them, eyes dripping void. “Ah! It returns! Seeking shelter?”

They give a noncommittal shrug, setting their nail down and leaning against the side of the chamber, feeling the hum of the black stone behind them. The Mask Maker laughs, setting a mask they’re working on aside. “You can stay here, I don’t mind.” Crossing their upper set of arms, they lean their head forward on them. “So it has seen the seas below and the sorrow that lies there, hmm? And come back cloaked in shadow?’

Ghost bristles a bit, giving Mask Masker their best glare. They are not an _it._

They seem to recognize this. “My apologies. Old habits die hard, after all.”

Another shrug. They look around the room, giving it a closer look than they did before. They can _feel_ the void in the air - it invigorates them, relaxing them as they take deep breaths. It is calm, lazy, unlike the anger that chokes the air in the Abyss.

Ghost wonders what Mask Maker knows. They know too much about the Abyss, what lies below. Not to mention the void drifting up through the area and the strangely familiar material making up the structure.

They stand, making a circle around the room as they look around. There are _so_ many masks. Of all shapes and sizes. They push memories of the Abyss and the crunch of sibling masks beneath their feet back with a shudder, turning their thoughts to the room again. Ghost wonders how many Mask Maker has made. Who are they, outside of that title? Are they anyone?

“Geo for your thoughts?” Mask Maker asks, their voice full of amusement.

Ghost whips their head to stare at the many-armed bug, wiping some void away from their eyes. Mask Maker tilts their head at them, and Ghost's gaze is drawn to the void dripping from their eyes. “You are injured. Come here.”

Ghost freezes, watching them warily. They sigh, rummaging for something below their workstation. “I am familiar with treating your kind. I will not hurt you.”

Slowly, they make their way to Mask Maker, hopping onto their workstation and sitting cross-legged. Mask Maker takes a cloth in one hand, gently wiping the void dripping from their mask, and then takes out a couple bottles of something, one dark as night and the other a gently glowing white.

They are handed the black vial as Mask Maker pours some of the white substance onto a cloth. “Drink a few sips. It will help.”

Still wary, they uncork the bottle, gazing down at the substance - not completely void, they can sense, but they’ve never seen anything like it. Huffing, they tip their head back, bringing the bottle to their mouth beneath their mask and taking a few gulps. It sends shivers through their body as they feel Mask Makser press the cloth to their head. “Be still. Let it do its work.”

They do, and gradually the pain in their head and the aches through their body disappear. After a few minutes the cloth is removed, and they gingerly reach up to feel for the cracks, feeling only some small, shallow lines. They stare at Mask Maker, who laughs again, taking the bottles and putting them away beneath the workstation. “As I said, I am not unfamiliar with your kind, or those touched by the void. You are not the first I’ve seen, little Vessel. Others much like you have passed through this area before. I have seen to them as I have seen to you.

Ghost has so many questions. Other siblings who escaped the Abyss? In their scattered memories, there was no one with them. But they were not alone.

Mask Maker nudges them gently, another hand having retrieved a blanket and pillow from...somewhere. “Go rest, I can see that you’re exhausted.” And they _are_ exhausted, but a part of them thinks that Mask Maker just wants to avoid answering any questions they may be able to convey.

Who are they? How do they know so much about the Abyss? What do they know about the void?

Ghost huffs, but hop down off the table, going to curl up by where they left their nail. There’s so many questions echoing through their mind.

But there will be time for questions in the morning.

Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mask Maker is fascinating like how the hell do you know all this WHAT ARE YOUR SECRETS


	12. Gloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the shadows have eyes.

They slip away from their siblings one day, creeping out of the main cavern and through the dark, twisting tunnels. They pointedly ignore the empty shells of siblings scattered about, something in their chest twisting at the sight, and skurry onward. 

The siren song of the void sea grows louder as they draw closer, but the beam of the lighthouse above keeps it at a barely-there whisper in the back of their mind.

They’ve always been good at ignoring calls like that.

The Vessel their siblings call Quiet (it is not their name, but a placeholder, until they find something that _fits_ ) sinks to their knees on the metal platform extending over the void sea, the whisper-call within the gloom louder than before. They let it slide off their mind like water and tilt their head, their gently curving two-pronged horns casting a dull shadow before them before being swallowed by the dark.

This is all they know. The chamber they were born in, where they and their twin clawed their way out of their egg, where so many siblings have fallen and not stood up again. This place, where the sea stretches into the darkness, the silhouettes of pillars (or towers?) barely visible in the distance. The surrounding tunnels, a maze of cramped and dark passageways, leading who knows where.

Their world is very, very small.

Quiet shifts into a cross-legged position, staring out into the darkness. Particles of void drift lazily through the air, shadows dancing out of the corners of their eyes.

There’s a stone on the metal platform, and they pick it up, turning it over in their hands. It’s been worn smooth. They’re not sure by what. Are there rivers of void out there somewhere, smoothing the stones over time? Is it from the world above them, the place where the Call comes from?

They wish they could figure out. But they suppose they’ll never know. Anyone who climbs dies. No one has made it out.

The surface is a dream. Even exploring the farthest reaches of the Abyss is a dream. Few have ventured out beyond the immediate chambers. Fewer have returned.

Quiet tosses the stone into the sea, hearing the _plop_ as it disappears beneath the inky surface. The ripples spread outward, and then abruptly stop. For some reason, they get the notion that that’s odd.

There’a shifting in the air next to them, a whisper on the wind. They look up and immediately scamper backwards when they’re met with Soul-white eyes set in a black face, so close to them they can feel the void emanating from the wispy form.

A Shade. The essence and regrets of a deceased sibling, haunting those that still live.

They scoot backwards more, and the Shade tilts their head one way, then the other. They float a bit off the ground, their body beneath the head formless and shifting, like the tendrils that lash out from the void pools scattered about.

The whispering increases in volume, like a chorus of voices. Quiet clenches at their head, trying to block out the sound, as pain builds behind their eyes.

And then...it stops. And one voice remains.

_**“Sib-ling?”**_ The voice is soft, uncertain, _vulnerable_. Quiet knows it must come from the Shade. _**“Where...am I? Everything is...cloudy?”**_

The confusion and fear in the Shade’s voice breaks them, and they right themself, sitting up straighter. Trying not to show how afraid they are. They don’t know how to reply to the poor thing’s questions, this remnant of a sibling shaking in front of them.

_“We’re by the void sea,”_ they say finally, trying to push their voice towards the Shade. _“What’s...what’s your name?”_

_**“A name?”**_ The Shade appears confused by this, as if they’re having trouble remembering. _**“I had...a name. A...nice one. I don’t...remember. I remember names...but they...are not mine…they are theirs...but also mine...we are the same…”**_

Quiet is growing more perturbed by the moment. _“You are the same?”_

But the Shade appears not to hear them. _**“Where...where is everyone? I’m so cold...so cold…”**_ And then arms materialize out of the floating mass, reaching towards them with grasping hands. Quiet gets the wind knocked out of them when the Shade’s hands grasp their cloak and their form huddles close. They’re cold, colder than any of their living siblings. It _burns_.

They are trying to push the Shade away when they hear another voice-not-voice. _“Hey! Get away from them!”_

The Shade startles, jolting backwards as footsteps patter across the metal platform, and then they feel their hand grabbed as their sibling, their _twin_ , their _**Shadow**_ , shoves them behind them. They wave their free hand at the Shade, trying to shoo it off. _“Shoo! Go away!”_

_**“Sorry,”**_ the Shade says softly, shrinking back. _**“So sorry.”**_

Quiet almost feels bad as the Shade shrinks back, curling into a ball and disappearing into the blackness of the void sea without even a ripple. They let out a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding in as Shadow turns around, looking up at them. They huff, tilting their head one way, the light from the lighthouse catching on their curved horns. _“You wandered off,”_ Shadow says. _“I hate it when you do that.”_

_“Sorry,”_ Quiet says softly. _“I didn’t mean to, it just...happened.”_

_“Don’t do it again? Please?”_ Their voice is soft, pleading. 

Quiet stares at their twin for a moment, their void swirling with thoughts they cannot grasp, and then nods. _“Okay.”_

Their shadow tugs at their hand, and they allow them to lead them back in the direction of the main cavern. Quiet glances back just before the void sea leaves view. 

And sees dozens of white eyes staring back at them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quiet = Ghost/The Knight  
> Shadow = Hollow/The Hollow Knight
> 
> HEY HOLLOW KNIGHT GANG WHAT'S UP 
> 
> My old hyperfixation reared its head and I've been in Destiny hell for the past few months and kinda DID forget about these for a while, but I'm still around! I'm gonna upload the rest of the ones I've written and try to finish the ones I haven't done
> 
> If you're a Destiny fan you can check out the Destiny stuff I've written but I get the feeling you're just here for the HK stuff

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of drabbles for Holloween 2020 on the Hollow Knight Discord server. They take place in an as-of-yet unwritten fic series that I'm planning! It's sibling focused and canon divergent.


End file.
